Loving a Memory
by kittykatloren
Summary: But his heart was gone, lost with her, and it always had been; not even death could change that. FE7 Rekka no Ken; Matthew/Leila oneshot. WARNING: Rated for sex and character death.


A vague, thought-centric fic about Matthew. I've always loved the relationship between Matthew and Leila, for it's so sad and carries so much weight, even in the brief time we get to hear about it in the main storyline. This one is quite dark and presses the boundaries of a T-rated fic in terms of a more explicit romance than I usually write. (If you feel the rating should be changed, please tell me so.) As always, enjoy the read, and please review!

**Words: **721  
**Characters:** Matthew  
**Time: **Shortly after the events of _Rekka no Ken_.  
**Genre:** Angst

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo. Not me.

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Every day, her striking eyes still smiled at him in his mind's eye, her shocking red hair still setting her apart from the sea of faces of people who had passed. Sometimes, Matthew would freeze, terrified that he had forgotten what her voice had sounded like. He would shut his eyes tight – and, finally, it would come to him.

The sweet, sassy tone, the whispers that sounded like wind chimes, the shouts that sounded like an ocean wave crashing on a shore. Then there were the heated murmurs that he'd only ever heard a few times, but that stood out more clearly in his mind than almost anything else. They were incomprehensible, almost child-like, and incomparable, for he had never heard anything else that made him feel so alive, so nervous, yet so irrevocably in love. But each time, it took longer and longer to recall the sound.

Matthew remembered holding her hand, feeling her lips brush against his for the first time, and the murmurs that followed, breathed into his ear, a secret only for him. He had been too stunned, too desperate to feel her lips again, to understand what she'd said. His heart pounded in his chest and he clenched his fists.

Why hadn't he listened, taken in every letter that she pronounced, not knowing how limited they were? So long they often had to go in between seeing each other often made their reunions all the more special, Leila always said; she whispered that once when Matthew made her tremble by running his fingers along her neck, her collarbone, and her chest, fluttering across the curves of her breasts and hips. They were pressed against the wall of a deserted palace corridor for lack of anywhere else. His hands gripped her bare hips tight as he pressed himself into her, intoxicated by her musky smell and the soft moans escaping her lips. She cried his name, her fingernails cutting into his shoulders, her face a glaze of desire and pleasure. Leila twisted in his arms, Matthew matched her; she twirled her body around him, and Matthew was left defenseless. Knowing that they had only a day until their next assignment, they stayed awake all night, talking and touching and loving and smiling. Her smiles were so rare that each one made Matthew lean over to kiss her cheek or bury his fingers in her hair.

And then it was all gone, with one order, one stroke, one woman's life, one man's future. Her body was cold in his arms. Her face was blank, and yet, it wasn't hers anymore, for Leila was never blank, never cold. This was an empty shell. A corpse. And it still looked like her, felt like her, even smelled like her.

As Matthew cradled the still form in his arms, alone in the woods, he let the tears fall slowly over his face, wondering what she would say if she ever saw him cry so helplessly over her. The blood on her chest was dark and dry. Her clothes were ripped, but not obscenely so, only where the sword had cut. Matthew ran his calloused hands over the torn fabric, her closed eyes, her delicate fingers. No, they were _not_ hers, because she was gone.

That simple, clean sword slash had done more than taken her life. It had taken Matthew's heart, for his heart belonged solely to her; she had held it in her hand ever since the first time she had looked at him and smiled. Could he go on loving a memory? Could he truly spend the rest of his life loving only the image of her in his mind, fading ever faster? Matthew rubbed his temples wearily. His empty heart was tired. Was it strained from holding on to her love, or was it because of the scar that pained him? He could see Leila furious at him for never finding love again, calling him shy, lazy, and pathetic.

Deep inside, he knew it would never be possible for him to love someone else. He still smiled to the world, still lived his life, and was grateful to have survived the war and found a home in Ostia. But his heart was gone, lost with her, and it always had been; not even death could change that.


End file.
